


Thunder Crashes

by wyntirrose



Series: Trials and Blessings [19]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-10
Updated: 2007-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were like a storm sometimes, their personalities were just too different.  And when they fought it was like the gods of thunder and lightning had taken up residence in the Ark.  Everyone heard it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic is a jump off from Lovers in Dangerous Times and was inspired by a request from lstarrunner to have a fic that expanded on some of the sentence-themes. I hope this does the request justice.

Prowl strode purposefully toward the med bay, his demeanour calm, but the other Autobots knew better. A wave of cold anger followed in his wake and people couldn't get out of his way fast enough. Upon entering Ratchet's domain his optics took in the shipping crates that the CMO, First Aid, and Swoop were emptying methodically.

"Both of you please leave," Prowl said icily.

The junior medic and the Dinobot turned toward Ratchet, a questioning look on their faces

"It's all right. I can handle the rest," the CMO said. "Take the day off, but I want you both back here first thing tomorrow. We still need to go over the new triage order."

"You sure?" First Aid asked, shooting a concerned look in Prowl's direction.

"I'm positive. Just go."

"Yes sir," First Aid replied, leaving the room quickly.

"Me not go," Swoop said, standing up straight and placing himself between the 2IC and the CMO, arms crossed over his massive chest.

"Swoop, this is an order, not a request," Prowl said. "Please leave."

"Swoop, I don't need you here right now and I most certainly do not need you to fight my battles for me," Ratchet said. "Now get out!"

Swoop looked from Prowl to Ratchet and back again, obviously considering disobeying orders. Finally, after a moment of internal battle, he stomped out of the room.

"Me Swoop outside if you Ratchet need me," he grumbled before shutting the med bay door behind him.

Ratchet continued to unpack supplies, bringing them to the storage room while Prowl watched him work. Ratchet knew what was coming, but wasn't about to broach the subject.

"I specifically told you not to go get those supplies yourself. You disobeyed a direct order, Ratchet," Prowl said, following the medic into the storage room.

"You know what, Prowl? I really don't care! I needed these supplies and this was the only way to get them!" Ratchet retorted. He proceeded to turn his back on the tactician, open a crate, and restock the shelves.

"You cannot disobey an order whenever you feel like it. The rules are there for a reason and, as an officer, you have to set an example," Prowl replied. He voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to his tone.

Ratchet recognized it, and realized that he was about to cross a line, but he kept on pushing anyway.

"To the Pit with your rules," he yelled, one hand tightening on a bottle of solvent. "And you can take your example and shove it right up your exhaust port!"

Prowl's optics narrowed but he was not about to rise to the bait. He was in the right and a calm, logical discussion was the only way to make Ratchet see that.

"Stop yelling," he said. "We need to discuss this calmly and rationally."

"No! There is nothing to slagging discuss! I needed these frelling supplies and you refused to sign the primus-damned order. You and your rules put patients' lives at risk!" Ratchet pushed past Prowl to get another box of supplies.

"They most certainly did not. Do you have any idea what could have happened if this had gone wrong?" Prowl asked, his voice tight. "Did it even occur to you that you could have been killed? How many lives would you have put at risk then?"

Ratchet paused, his anger dissipating in the face of cool logic. For a moment Prowl thought that Ratchet would back down, but then the medic's face clouded over and he ripped off the top of the crate violently.

"That is not fair! I never would have had to go if you had just agreed to sign the P.O.s! And besides, the twins were both—slag," Ratchet groaned, covering his optics with one hand as he slammed down a can of cleanser with the other.

"You got Sideswipe and Sunstreaker involved in this?" Prowl asked. "Is it not enough that you flaunt the rules? You have to encourage those two as well?"

"It's not their fault! I ordered them to go," Ratchet said, hoping he could keep the twins out of the brig.

"I find it interesting that you refuse to take orders but you have no problem dispensing them," Prowl said, his temper beginning to wear thin. "May I remind you that except in the case of a medical emergency, you do not have the authority to order the troops to do anything?"

"This was a medical emergency! If the Decepticons had attacked before we'd replaced the stolen supplies, mechs would have died! I don't know how to make that any more clear!" Ratchet said, frustration dripping on every word.

"You had enough supplies remaining to deal with any eventuality save an all out Decepticon assault. And given our present intel, there is less than a three percent chance of that occurring."

"Do not quote statistics at me!" Ratchet roared. "Our people are not numbers and I will not lose any more of them because your intel says it can't happen!"

"I do not consider them numbers!" Prowl shot back, finally losing his composure. "I am juggling everyone's requisitions as best as I can and it means that I can't cater to every one of your requests! This war does not revolve around you and this med bay! And your theft of the kartuchian ore has just made my job that much more difficult!"

"Oh I am sorry that I made more paperwork for you, but believe it or not Prowl, black marketeers do not work for frelling charity. We needed to give them money or a trade and since the slagging ore is useless to us here it was the 'logical' choice!" Ratchet yelled.

"That ore was not yours to give! Perceptor had it ear marked for several experiments!" Prowl shot back. "And will you please control your language!"

"I will not control my fragging language and I didn't have much of a gorram choice! In fact you didn't leave me with any kind of a fucking choice!"

"If you had bothered to listen to me instead of putting words in my mouth you would have known that I had plans in the works to get those supplies on the next run!" Prowl said.

"Oh? And when precisely was that scheduled for? When were you and the rest of the committee going to allow that to happen? Sometime in the next fiscal year?" Ratchet asked, tossing the last empty box out of the room, missing Prowl by a hair's breadth.

"It is not a matter of committees or scheduling!" Prowl bit back. "It is a matter of acting logically and for the good of the whole!"

"Yeah, well you and your logic can both get fragged!" Ratchet said as he pushed past Prowl and into the med bay proper. "This needed to be done, it needed to be done now, and there was no time to wait for you and your battle computer to make a primus-damned frelling decision!" Ratchet roared.

He moved toward his office but was stopped by Prowl's iron grip on his arm.

"Hold on Ratchet! We are not done here!" Prowl ordered.

"Oh I think we are quite done here!" Ratchet said in a dangerous growl, pulling roughly away from Prowl's hand. "Now get the hell out of my med bay!"

He stormed into his office and slammed the door behind him, not waiting to see if Prowl had obeyed his order.


	2. Chapter 2

Prowl made his way wearily back to the quarters that he and Ratchet shared. While his shift had been no longer than normal, it had seemed to go on forever. On top of his normal duties, he had also had to deal with the twins and the new paperwork from Ratchet's escapades.

He couldn't rationalize putting Ratchet in the brig, because even though he had stolen supplies, he was their CMO and Perceptor had claimed that he had given the ore to him. As such, he also couldn't put the twins in the brig for following the orders of a superior, regardless of whether that superior had the authority to give the order or not. Sideswipe had taken the lack of disciplinary action as _carte blanche_ and had flaunted it. Somehow, and Prowl wasn't sure how, this had led to a fight that had left the twins in the brig and Powerglide in medical.

Under normal circumstances, these events wouldn't have been a burden, but today's circumstances were hardly normal. Whispers had followed him down the halls, conversations had stopped when he entered a room, and when he had gone to check on Powerglide's condition all three medics had treated him with the cool indifference and formality reserved for an unwelcome stranger. And through everything a portion of his processor kept running the morning's argument trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He replayed every word, every movement, analyzing every nuance and always coming back to Ratchet's accusation that he considered the other Autobots numbers and nothing more.

Upon entering their room he noticed immediately that things were missing. Ratchet hadn't moved out completely, but enough things were gone that it was obvious he wasn't planning on returning any time soon. His attention was diverted to the console where an unread message notice flashed rhythmically. Seating himself at the desk, he read the note and felt his disappointment grow.

_Shift reassignment notification: Due to unforeseen circumstances and until further notice all future medical "On Call" shifts have been reassigned to CMO Ratchet. All further contact is to be directed to the medical wing._

Prowl sighed and moved to the recharge berth. He sat heavily and began to rub his temples with his fingertips. This had not gone as it was supposed to. He had never told Ratchet that he couldn't have the supplies; he had only said that they didn't have time to get them immediately. If he had thought for even a moment that the attack on the supply shuttle and the resulting piracy would have threatened Autobots' lives, he would have made the new shipment a priority. But he had crunched the numbers and the risk caused by waiting a week had been minimal; Ratchet refused the see that fact. He steadfastly refused to take a logical approach with anything and disobeyed regulations at every given opportunity. It was to the point where Prowl had to wonder if Ratchet hadn't been looking for a fight.

The door chime pulled him away from his thoughts.

"Enter," he said wearily

The door slid open and Jazz sauntered in. He dropped into a chair and looked at Prowl for a long time not saying anything.

"I seems that Ratchet is moving out," Prowl said, breaking the silence, avoiding his best friend's gaze.

"Well what'd ya expect after the fight this morning?" Jazz asked.

"You heard that?"

Jazz looked at Prowl askance. "You're kidding, right? They heard it over in the Nemesis," he said, crooking his thumb in the general direction of the Decepticon base.

"Great," Prowl muttered. "That's just great. Well it certainly explains the looks I've been getting today."

"Yup," Jazz replied. "It didn't take long fer a nice game o' grapevine to get started. It must be a slow week 'cause you two are all anyone's talkin' about _and_ they're startin' to take sides."

"Fantastic," Prowl muttered to himself. "Alright, fine. So what do I need to know?" he asked, finally looking up at the saboteur.

"Well, see, here's the thing; First Aid ran off to the Protectobots and Swoop headed back to the Dinobots and both of 'em told their side of the story, or at least what they _thought_ was their side of it. The problem is that Aid wasn't around t' hear it at all, and you know how bad Swoop is at tellin' a story. Facts got messed up right from the get go. And then, when other jaws got to waggin' the rumours started to fly and mutate, and now it don't matter what actually happened, because everyone _knows_ what really happened, if you know what I mean."

"I know how a grapevine works, Jazz. Just tell me what I need to know," Prowl prompted.

"And the rumour mill is gonna float for a good long time on you two, that is for sure," Jazz replied, ignoring Prowl's request. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk, apparently oblivious to the 2IC's glower.

"Jazz, please. The point. What do I need to know?" Prowl asked wearily.

"Well, here are the most persistent ones," Jazz began. "Apparently you and Ratch' are completely and irrevocably broken up, an' my being in here alone with you probably doesn't help that rumour any." Jazz leered lecherously at Prowl before continuing. "Apparently you and I have been going at it like petro-rabbits in heat, and that's what caused the fight in the first place. Apparently Ratchet caught us _flagrante delicto_ , red handed, right in the act!"

"I know what the term means, Jazz. I don't need a lesson in Latin," Prowl said.

"Mind you, there're those who claim that the problem is with Ratchet and Wheeljack, if ya get my drift," Jazz continued as if Prowl had never spoken.

"Is that the worst of it?" Prowl asked, hoping it was and knowing it wasn't.

"Oh no, it gets better. Apparently the fight came to blows. Some say that you hit Ratchet and others say that he hit you. Well, actually no, they say that you hit him and then he handed you your aft. Apparently in a knock down drag out, most people put their money on the good doc."

"Great," Prowl grumbled.

"Oh and wait for it, we haven't even gotten to the best part yet. There is one persistent little bugger that no one's taking seriously, but isn't likely to go away any time soon either. Apparently you haven't arrested Ratchet because you're sleeping with him, which isn't so bad on its own. But that particular beauty has already morphed to include the twins."

"Do I even want to know what is being said about that?" Prowl asked.

"Prolly not, but I'm gonna tell you anyway," Jazz replied, getting up from the chair and sitting next to Prowl on the berth. "There's actually two versions goin' around. One of 'em says that Ratchet's got something on you an' he's usin' it to keep them out of trouble. That one got pretty much quashed after this afternoon's brawl in the lounge. The other is that Prime won't let you take action against Ratchet, and so yer takin' yer aggression out on the twins. That particular rumour involves manacles and pain rods, but Smokescreen wouldn't go inta details on what he's heard exactly."

"Great. That's just great," Prowl groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Jazz laid a comforting hand on Prowl's shoulder.

"Don't worry m'man. It'll blow over soon enough and everythin'll be right as rain. I give it a week, tops, before the mill's died down and you an' Ratch are back t'gether."


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet entered the On-Call quarters, turned on some soft music, and lay heavily on the berth. It had been a week since he had blown up at Prowl, a week since he had moved in here, and he was losing his resolve. There was a part of him that just wanted to apologize, just say anything to make things like they were before. But another, stronger part of him was still angry. This hadn't been the first time that Prowl's logic had prevented him from seeing the facts and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He just refused to grasp that medicine didn't always come down to numbers; that he had to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  
Today's argument had only been one of many. Their relationship had been rocky and emotional from the get go. Or at least Ratchet had been emotional. Prowl had taken everything with that infuriatingly cold logic.

He shuttered his optics and took a deep breath, allowing his mind to wander, wrapped up in the quiet voice of Gordon Lightfoot. The music was soothing, but the words did nothing but bring up more emotions, more anger. As Sundown ended, The Circle is Small came on, and Ratchet found himself clenching one hand. It was ridiculous, but the rumours and whispers were beginning to get under his skin.

_I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips  
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this  
I can see the way you look when his name is mentioned and I die  
I can watch the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you close your eyes_

"Lightfoot? Well that's not good," Wheeljack said, interrupting Ratchet's mood, and turning off the music.

"What do you want, Jack?" Ratchet asked, not bothering to open his optics.

He heard a soft sigh and then felt a weight at the end of his berth.

"You can't keep doing this," Wheeljack said. "All you do is work and hide in here. You'll have to see him eventually, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ratchet replied, sullenly. 'I saw him at this morning's senior staff meeting."

"Yes, and you refused to do anything but answer direct questions. That's hardly dealing with the problem," Smokescreen said.

"Oh great," Ratchet muttered. "You brought Smokescreen into this, 'Jack?" he asked more loudly.

"No, we were actually on our way to the Oil Bar for a drink," Smokescreen replied. There was a hint of a smile in his voice. "Why don't you join us?"

"I'm on call," Ratchet said.

"For what?" Wheeljack snorted. "There's no one in, and if anything does come up, you'll be called."

"I'd rather not be a third wheel, thank you," Ratchet replied sullenly.

"Oh for …," Wheeljack muttered.

Ratchet felt Wheeljack get up, then suddenly his wrists were grabbed and he found that both 'Jack and Smokescreen were trying to haul him off the berth.

"You are coming," Smokescreen said with a grin. "If you don't I'll tell Prime that, in my professional opinion, you need a few mental health days and send Prowl with you … hey, that's not a half bad idea, actually."

"Don't you even think about it!" Ratchet said while quickly getting up. "Fine, I'll go with you, but then you have to leave me alone."

x-x-x

The lounge was quiet when they arrived. A few mechs sat in small groups of two or three, talking quietly or getting a bit of energon before they headed off to recharge.

"I had forgotten how quiet this place gets in between shifts," Wheeljack said, looking around.

"That's because you're always locked in your lab, or recovering after one of your 'accidents'," Smokescreen said, affectionately.

Wheeljack's headfins flashed in a pink blush, causing Ratchet to shake his head in disgust.

"See, I knew I'd be in the way," Ratchet grumbled. "I'm leaving you two alone."

He turned to go, but found his arms grabbed by Wheeljack and Smokescreen.

"Don't you even think of it!" the Datsun said sternly. "Telling Prime wasn't an empty threat. Now you need to get out and relax and you need to do it now. A week is more than long enough to sulk."

"I was not sulking!" Ratchet said loudly. Everyone in the lounge looked up at the medic, and he quickly dropped his voice. "I was not sulking, I was working."

"Yeah, right. Sit," Smokescreen said. He pointed to a table then headed off to get some energon for them.

Ratchet and Wheeljack sat and the engineer favoured the medic with a probing stare.

"So what's really going on?" he asked. "This isn't about supplies and it isn't about a fight. So what is it? Really?"

"It's nothing," Ratchet replied, causing Wheeljack to snort indelicately.

"That, my friend, is bullshit, complete and utter bullshit!" Wheeljack said. Ever since he had learned the word from Spike, it had become a favourite, expressing much more than any Cybertronian curse ever could.

Ratchet glared at the table darkly. Had his creator granted him laser optics like they had given the Dinobots, the table would have been disintegrated.

"Alright! Fine!" Ratchet said finally, just as Smokescreen returned. "The problem is that Prowl refuses to see anything past his rulebook. He's so convinced that he's always right that he'll never admit that he's made a mistake!"

Smokescreen choked on a mouthful of energon and after a brief coughing spell, he stared at Ratchet incredulously.

"Oh that is rich coming from you! Talk about pots and kettles," Smokescreen finally said.

"What?" Ratchet asked. "What the frell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're made out of the same material. You two are so unbelievably alike that … Well has it occurred to you that he might actually be right? Or is your own arrogance preventing you from seeing that?" Smokescreen asked.

Wheeljack just shook his head and sat back. There was no way he was getting further involved in this. He had agreed to help Smokescreen get Ratchet out of medical, to get him talking, but this particular tactic was going to result in the medic storming out or punching the Datsun. Either way, Wheeljack wanted to make sure he wasn't in the line of fire.

"He is not right! Not in this case. He keeps on talking about acceptable losses! There is no such thing! How can there be? How could anyone even begin to say that one life is more important than another; that a death should be accepted?" Ratchet asked passionately. "What he's suggesting is that we give up before we've even tried!"

"He's not suggesting that," Smokescreen said. "He's being practical."

Ratchet just glared are the Datsun, obviously not convinced at all.

"Well, what about triage? Aren't you doing exactly the same thing then? Making a choice and weighing the odds?" Smokescreen asked.

"That's different," Ratchet protested. "It's one thing to be faced with it immediately, to know that if you take the time to save that patient not only will he die, but five others will as well. What Prowl is suggesting is," Ratchet paused, searching for the right words. After a moment he gave up and slammed his hand down on the table. "What he's doing is writing off his losses before they even happen! How can anyone even begin to justify that?"

Smokescreen just looked at Ratchet and sighed.

"Look, you're making perfect sense. And I agree with everything you've said, but you have to see things from his side." He held up his hand to prevent Ratchet's outburst. "And he has to see things from yours. But one of you has to take the first step. You can't keep on doing this; you can't keep on circling around the issues. Ratchet, is this really how you want this to go?"

Ratchet stared back at Smokescreen and then turned his gaze to Wheeljack. He knew that they were both trying to help and he knew that they were right. But he also knew that he didn't want to face the truth of it, that he didn't want to stare down his jealousy. Rather than face any of it, he did the easy thing. He ignored it all.

"Sometimes when a part is infected there's nothing you can do but cut it off," he said grimly. "You may not believe it, but it is as simple as that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

Ratchet stood and walked out of the lounge.


	4. Chapter 4

"Spawn of a slag-sucker!" Ratchet swore as he threw himself across Bluestreak's prone body, shielding the young gunner from the falling dirt and oil. "Will you please keep them off of me?"

"I am trying!" Prowl bit back, firing back at Dirge trying to drive the Seeker away from the medic.

"Oh come on!" Dirge yelled. "Give it up. You're outnumbered and outclassed!"

"Yeah, just cut your losses now!" Thrust laughed. "Forget the medic and get out while you can!"

"That is not going to happen," Prowl muttered. He fired his shoulder missile up at the Seekers, driving them back a little further, but still not driving them off.

The battle continued to rage around them, the Seekers keeping the Autobots distracted and pinned down while the Constructicons and Soundwave turned the life blood of the East Texas Oil Field into precious energon cubes.

"How much longer do you need?" Prowl asked Ratchet, analyzing the scene around him and calculating the options.

"Two minutes," the medic replied. Another shot, this time from Ramjet, nearly hit Ratchet, sending more dirt flying into the air, and knocking the medic to the side. He crawled back to his patient and looked down in dismay. "Make it five.

"We do not have five minutes; we need you two out of here now!" Prowl called back.

"He'll go offline if I move him now. Just buy me a bit-" Ratchet was cut off by another explosion, this one from the other side of the field. "Just buy me more time!" he finished.

Prowl glared at him but did as he was told. Firing back at the Decepticons, he continued to ensure that he was between Ratchet and the attackers.

" _Inferno,_ " he called out on his radio, " _get over here! Ratchet needs more backup!_ "

" _No can do!_ " Inferno called back. " _The 'Cons've set fire t' one of th' rigs. We've got t' get it under control or we'll lose it all!_ "

Prowl looked over to where he'd last seen the fire truck heading and saw the red-gold aura and deep black cloud of a large oil fire just beyond the horizon.

Shaking his head slightly, he continued to defend the medic, all the while tracking the rest of the battle. The Autobots continued to hold their ground, but gained nothing, and the Decepticons continued to create energon cubes. It would be another ten minutes before back-up arrived from the Ark, but Prowl estimated that by that time there would be nothing left to back-up.

Dirge and Thrust continued to play with Prowl and Ratchet, staying just out of range, moving in to take pot shots at Ratchet and keeping Prowl off balance. There was a moment of distraction as Thrust came in close, and Prowl took his attention off Dirge, giving the blue Seeker time to get a well placed shot in on Ratchet. There was a cry and Prowl turned just in time to see the medic hit, watch him fall, his whole right side burned and blackened. Prowl turned his gun on Thrust but was stopped by Dirge's cold voice.

"Don't even think about it Autobot!" he said, aiming his weapon at Bluestreak. "One more move and the kid gets it!"

Ratchet struggled into a sitting position, clutching his scorched arm. He was obviously in severe pain, leaking vital fluids, and yet he kept his body between the Decepticons and his patient. He stared up at Dirge defiantly, but Prowl saw a familiar look in his optics. He was judging his chances. Was he fast enough to get his gun and shoot Dirge before Dirge killed Bluestreak? Prowl knew he wasn't, but he wasn't sure that Ratchet knew this. There was a moment of palpable tension, and then, like he was watching slow motion, Prowl saw Ratchet move for his gun. Dirge turned his attention to the medic, raising his own firearm, when suddenly, he was knocked out of the sky. Time sped up again as the sky seemed to fill with Aerialbots, flying in to the defence of their comrades, a full five minutes early.

The rest of the battle was a blur. The Autobots reinforcements drove the Decepticons away while Skyfire evacuated the wounded back to the Ark.

x-x-x

An hour later, Prowl strode toward the med bay. He had completed his report to Optimus, and needed to check on the wounded. He _needed_ to check on Ratchet. The scene that greeted him was not one of chaos as he had expected. First Aid was in the process of cleaning up and Prowl could see Wheeljack moving between the berths of the recovery ward.

"How did everything go?" Prowl asked First Aid.

"Quite well, all things considered. The Twins' damage was pretty standard for them, and we've dealt with Bluestreak and Inferno's major injuries as best as we can. Once Ratchet is up and about, he can take a better look," the Protectobot replied.

"Where is Ratchet now? Is he all right?" Prowl asked, trying not to seem too eager or too worried.

"His damage was mostly cosmetic. Really it looked a whole lot worse than it was. He'll be fine, but he refused to stay still. Finally Wheeljack had to order him to go get some sleep," First Aid said.

"And where is he now?" Prowl prompted.

"Back in your shared quarters," First Aid replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He wouldn't rest if he stayed here so Wheeljack marched him down there himself, since we couldn't be sure he'd obey orders. … You don't mind, do you?" First Aid added, suddenly sounding concerned.

"No, of course not," Prowl said, looking over at Wheeljack as he continued to move through the recovery ward. "Since everyone is fine for the moment, I will leave you to it. Thank you First Aid," he added.

He turned to leave the med bay, never noticing the slight, knowing smile that lit First Aid's optics, or the fact that Wheeljack chuckled as he watched him go.

x-x-x

Prowl stood outside his quarters. For the first time in a long time, he was indecisive. This was the third time he had stopped outside this door, the third time he had contemplated pushing the call button.

" _This is ridiculous!_ " he thought to himself. " _These are my quarters too. Why should I be worried about going in there?_ "

He moved away from the door again, but this time, he was stopped by Jazz. The saboteur had snuck up on him, moving more silently than a cat stalking prey.

"You know, you'll get in there a whole lot faster if you just go in," Jazz said with a grin.

"I was not intending to enter. Ratchet needs rest. I was simply on my way to my office," Prowl replied.

"Uhn hunh, sure you were," Jazz said. "You know your office's nowhere near here, right?"

"Excuse me, Jazz, I have work to do," Prowl said, turning to walk away.

Suddenly he was stopped by Jazz' grip on his shoulder.

"You're damn right you've got work t' do, but it ain't in your office."

He gently took Prowl by the other shoulder and turned him toward the door.

"Now will you just get in there? This whole thing's gone on long enough," he said.

Prowl hesitated, refusing to press the call button. "Jazz, he needs his rest and he does not want to see me. Now will you please let me go?" he said.

"Oh for bootin' up cold," Jazz muttered. He reached out and pressed the call button.

"Come," Ratchet called from inside.

"See it's all good," Jazz said. The door slid open, and he pushed Prowl into the room.

As the door slid silently shut, Prowl was sure he heard Jazz chuckling.

Ratchet sat on the edge of the berth, looking both surprised and sullen. His left arm and most of his chest were the dull putty colour of primed but unpainted metal and Prowl winced inwardly at the sight. For a long time the two just looked at each other, neither willing to make that all important first move. Finally, Prowl sighed and took a step further into the room.

"I was told that you were here. I came by to see how you were," he said. Even to his own audials he sounded clumsy and overly formal.

"I'm fine," Ratchet replied. "The only reason I'm here is because Wheeljack forced me. I should actually head back to work."

Ratchet stood, and then looked forlorn, as if he didn't know what to do or where to go.

"There is no need for that. These are your quarters as well. You should stay and rest. You will be of no use to any of us if you are exhausted," Prowl replied.

"Thanks, I ...," Ratchet's voice drifted. He looked to the floor, his shoulders shaking in a small sigh. "What are we doing?" he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly small.

Prowl looked at Ratchet, trying to hold on to the righteousness that had sustained him. He found that it had evaporated leaving him with nothing but a deep hollow emptiness. All that moved through his thoughts was the knowledge that he had nearly lost Ratchet today. He looked over at the red, white, and now putty mech and saw him looking back. The forlorn expression had been replaced with a look that was both intense and decided.

Before Prowl could speak, Ratchet took a step forward.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" he began.

Prowl cut him off. "No," he said, "I should have listened to you. I should have explained myself and not put you in that situation."

"I was the one who didn't listen. I just heard what I-"

Prowl cut him off again. He crossed the space that separated them and swept Ratchet into an embrace, kissing him with a gentle, almost tentative passion. Ratchet froze for the barest instant before returning the embrace running his hands up Prowl's back sending shivers up the tactician's spine. Leaning into the embrace, Prowl opened his mouth slightly, allowing his glossa to brush over Ratchet's lips. Ratchet responded in kind and their kiss deepened to a greedy need.

Prowl ran his hand down Ratchet's unpainted arm and felt the medic shudder under his touch. The nearly bare metal was highly sensitive, and Prowl took full advantage. He ran his fingers first over Ratchet's arm, then down his side, feeding off the needy sounds that he was drawing out of his mate.

Ratchet suddenly broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. He looked at Prowl, his gaze dark, intense, and almost feral.

"That's not fair," he growled.

His look and his voice sent shivers through Prowl's systems, but he stood his ground, continuing to stroke the bare metal over Ratchet's chest, watching as his optics turned from blue to indigo, and then almost to black with lust.

"All is fair is love and war," Prowl whispered, sending a sudden vibration through the seal of Ratchet's windshield.

Ratchet gasped, and his knees buckled beneath him. Prowl moved in to catch him before he fell, but realized too late that it had been a trick. Ratchet reached out, grabbed Prowl by the arms and spun him around, leaning him against the berth.

"So all's fair, is it?" he asked in a husky whisper.

He pinned Prowl against the side of the berth with his body, kissing his chevron lightly, sending little vibrations through the crest. Not to be outdone, Prowl reached up and grabbed Ratchet's hands, stroking his fingers, paying close attention to the new ones. Ratchet gasped, his attention diverted just long enough for Prowl to switch their position, rolling over suddenly and pinning Ratchet beneath him. He looked down, taking in his lover's face, relishing the look of intense passion and need in his optics that he knew was just for him. Ratchet attempted to lean up; trying to use his greater mass to his advantage, but Prowl was having none of it. He may have been slightly smaller, but in hand-to-hand he was far more skilled, and Ratchet wasn't going anywhere. He pressed his hands against Ratchet's shoulders, holding him in place as he straddled his hips.

Ratchet moved his hands to Prowl's waist making light circles with his fingers, a wicked smirk forming on his lips. Prowl fought back against the sensations, focusing all his attention on his partner. He ran his hands over Ratchet's chest, tracing the edge of his windshield, running probing fingers over the seams along his sides, searching for a gap to take advantage of. As he gently searched, Ratchet found, working his fingers into the space between Prowl's legs and his hips, gently stroking the wiring within and sending perfectly timed pulses that matched the beat of Prowl's fuel pump.

"Uhn ... Ratchet!" Prowl moaned, throwing his head back and clutching at the medic's shoulders with an iron grip.

Suddenly, Prowl was no longer in control. Ratchet moved his hands up Prowl's sides, touching and tapping the seams of his armour, drawing ragged moans and gasps out of his vocalizer. Slowly, Ratchet sat up, one arm wrapped around Prowl's waist to keep him close, the other reaching around to stroke the edges of his doorwing. Prowl leaned in further, his hands spasming on Ratchet's shoulders, sending pulses and vibrations through the new arm.

"... oh primus ... PROWL!" Ratchet cried out, bucking his hips and tightening his grip on the Dastsun's doorwing.

They were both moving without clear thought now, caught up in the waves of passion. Hands searched bodies, lips sought out lips, fields mingled, joined, and became one. Their engines revved, their cooling systems desperately tried to keep up, and the room was filled with crackling electric energy as the two mechs founds release in each other.

Slowly as they lay on the floor, their shuddering subsided. The error messages stopped flashing before drained optics as they began to finally cool down. Recharge beckoned seductively, and neither found they had any energy to move back to the berth. Lying in each other's arms, they began to drift off peacefully, confident in the knowledge that all that mattered was right here in this room. They had each other and that was everything.


End file.
